TSOU Part III: Mother of Pain
by Bauglir100
Summary: The tale of the black cold-drake, Naikamil, and her time in the Dark Lands of the South. Continued from "TSOU Part II: The Swerting-Darklander War". Contains character death, mild language, graphic violence, and mildly suggestive themes.
1. Darklanders

Naikamil lead the way through the tunnels of the Crack. The Under-guard, powerless to the cold-drake's superior strength and power, followed her like frightened children. The Underlord had left for the city of het-Githlun. Naikamil was annoyed and frustrated by this, and had been muttering angrily under her breath for almost two hours, even as she strode through chambers that were infested with creatures of all sizes and shapes, gnawing into the cavern walls.

"That selfish…thing!" Naikamil rambled in the darkness. "How could he leave me here, in this gauntlet of insanity? One does not irritate a Dragon! Not even you, so-called Underlord! I most certainly better not be the breeding stock of these stupid creatures! I am above all of these creatures! I am Naikamil, Drake of the Cold, The Black Worm, Mother of Pain! I demand respect!"

"Of course, my Lady!" whimpered one of the guards that followed her. "Have mercy, O worm-maiden of the North!"

Naikamil heeded not his pleas, and continued though the tunnels. Eventually, she came to a vast flooded chamber, where she saw an opening high up in the stone ceiling. Water was pouring into the chamber, and into deep pits in the dark. Naikamil smiled, and stretched the length of her massive black body. She sighed deeply.

"Freedom." The cold-drake whispered in awe. "I will not remain within this scum-infested tunnel, not for any request. I declare myself free, Farewell, you fools."

But when she extended her foremost claw against the wall, and peered into the sky above, the Under-guard ran up to her, and seized her hindmost feet. They were not attempting to stop her from leaving, but pleading to join her.

"My Lady, please do not leave us here!" begged the lieutenant. "Command us, as we are your soldiers! We put your leadership over the Underlord's! I plead that you accept our services!"

Naikamil paused for a moment. The concept of servants to call her own astonished her. Even as she thought about it, the guards began to grovel at her feet, even going so far as to climb up and kiss her scaly heels. Naikamil kicked them back, and brushed her heels with her tail. Then she turned her head, and faced the Under-guard.

"Very well. If you pathetic little boys can leave this place, you may grovel all you wish."

Then Naikamil extended her claws upwards, and climbed out of the opening. She lay flat on her belly as she looked at the land around her.

The Sky was now a bluish-white, and the land around her was rich with vegetation. To the Southwest, a River flowed through a forest of strange trees. To the North and distant West, mountain ranges were visible. The Northern mountains were greenish in color, while the Western mountains were utterly black. Jungles rose up in the East.

Naikamil saw the River, and realized how thirsty she was. She felt her throat dry up, and began to pant loudly. The cold-drake came to a small lake outside the strange forest, and began to drink from it.

As she began to drink, she felt something sharp and pointed poking her lips from under the water. Naikamil raised her head, and noticed that the bottom of the lake was stiff with spiked rocks jutting out from the riverbanks.

"No matter." Naikamil said to herself.

She raised her head, and let it drop down into the water. The underside of her massive jaw crushed the rocks completely. She then continued drinking the water. When Naikamil drank her fill, she lay herself on her side, and closed her eyes, as if to rest.

Meanwhile, along the River, known as Grindwater, a group of Darklanders had been patrolling the river-banks, hunting for food. The Men were armed with black-bladed swords, and went clad in leather-padded mail. They were nearing the lake, where Naikamil was resting.

The Darklanders were all in their late teens, though three were in their twenties. There were nineteen of them, and they were all eager for a creature to slay and devour. The lieutenant of the group pointed from beyond the forest, and shouted in Naikamil's general direction.

"_Ut el Hata_?" The lieutenant questioned, falling into the Renorin tongue. "What is that?"

"It looks like…some sort of lizard!" said one of the oldest Darklanders, staring in awe at the sleeping cold-drake.

"It is a Dragon." Said a Darklander with a skeletal face. "I remember overhearing a conversation about it in Grindsmouth. They're supposed to be ferocious monsters from a far away land…up North, I believe. They're said to be creatures of the Dark Lord himself."

"Who told you that?" asked the captain, a Man of nineteen.

"Jykale told me that!" said the skeletal Darklander.

"The son of Reinx? That crazy fool from the Islands? If that so-called philosopher cannot spend less time fantasizing about the lands across the Sea, and more time following the Underlord's code, we won't make it to het-Githlun till we're the Underlord's age!"

"What should we do, though? Should we do something about that giant lizard?" asked the twenty-year-old Darklander.

"It's a Dragon! By the Unlight, it's a Dragon!" said the skeletal Darklander, annoyed.

"I don't care if it's one of the Delvers of the Deep, Galkyn! This cannot go un-attended! We should investigate it, immediately."

"Very well, captain." Said Galkyn.

The nineteen Darklanders approached Naikamil in stealth. The loud blowing wind covered their footsteps as they crept through the twisted grass. Six drew their weapons out, and moved around Naikamil in a flanking position. Another three approached the sleeping Dragon with their dart-bows drawn out. Galkyn followed them, and urged the others not to interfere. The lieutenant took command of the remaining Darklanders, and forced them to resume their patrol.

The ten Darklanders that remained closed in on Naikamil. Galkyn and the captain both stood at bay, while the twenty-year-old and a dart-bow archer of sixteen years walked up to Naikamil's wide blue-gray belly. The other two dart-bow archers circled her massive black body, which measured to seventy feet in length.

"It's a female!" shouted the twenty-year-old, upon a particularly thorough inspection of the cold-drake's anatomy. "This lizard's a-_FFFAAEEERRRK_!"

Then at that point, Naikamil dropped the act, and rolled over, burying the twenty-year-old Darklander's legs under her belly. She was simply annoyed by the presence of these Men. What annoyed her more was how young these intruders were.

"Run along, little boys." She said to them, feigning a motherly tone in her voice, which thinly disguised a malice that was slowly erupting from within her fell spirit. "Mommy wants to rest. Go play…or go to sleep."

With that, she rolled back over, grabbed the crippled Darklander with her claw, and flung him eight feet away from her. Then she turned to the captain, and said to him:

"If you have something to say to me, then by all means, speak quickly!"

Galkyn approached the wrathful cold-drake, speaking to soothe her.

"Please, my dear Dragon. Don't be upset!"

"Upset?" repeated Naikamil. She then laughed deeply, ending it with a strained sigh. "I am simply distressed. I simply cannot find a moment of peace here in your lands. All the places I have attempted to rest have brought me one interruption after the other."

"If you seek a place to rest, Dragon, I know of a place in the Black Mountains, where the hot springs soothe all stress and calms even the most fiery of tempers. I, myself, cannot take the time to take you there, but I have a friend who can take on this task."

"Very well, boy." said Naikamil, haughtily. "You will bring this fool to me, and you will do so at the utmost haste!"

"Of course!" said the captain. "But dear Dragon, what is the name of the magnificent creature that commands me now, even as I stand humbly before it? Forgive me, but I must know!"

"I am Naikamil!" said the cold-drake, with a low, menacing tone in her voice. "I am thy Mother of Pain! Tempt not my scorn and your pitiful existence shall be spared!"

"As you wish!" bowed the captain. Galkyn led the other Darklanders in a forced salute.

Naikamil raised her head, and curved her lips into a wicked smile, and arced her spine, and whipped her tail into the ground. Galkyn shot one last look at Naikamil to see her raise her tail and flex it in a threatening manner, before hurrying quicker than ever.

The twenty-year-old lay abandoned by his comrades, broken and humiliated, by the water's edge. Naikamil sprawled towards him, and bent her head down to look upon him with a smile that stretched across her vast, reptilian face.


	2. The Pain of Dying

The Darklander lay on the edge of the lake, trying to move his legs. The Dragon was advancing towards him, and her massive, black shadow already loomed over him. He looked up to Naikamil's broad face, and saw her gray lips curled into a smile. The cold-drake bent her head down, and grinned maliciously.

"Are you hurt?" Naikamil asked, feigning concern. "I apologize, my dear child. I was simply careless."

"You bitch!" shrieked the Darklander, deep in pain. "If you cared about me, you'd silence me now!"

"Now, now…" the Dragon whispered, bowing her large black head over him. "Must you speak like this? I did not know how strong I was. You see, I have never dealt with such fragile creatures before."

"Lies!" yelled the crippled twenty-year-old, bending himself upwards. "We are not fragile creatures! What you did was _deliberate_! If my legs worked, I would run up and-"

But at that moment, he had looked directly into Naikamil's orange eyes. He felt his vision blur, his mind numb, and his body limb. Though, he did not realize it, he had fallen under the dragon-curse. He could hear the cold-drake laughing at him, but the laughter seemed to come from a great distance. Nonetheless, he could see her slit-like eyes, and the massive reptilian face that housed them, looking directly at him.

The world around him seemed to darken into a black, cloudy land of mist and fog. Naikamil's eyes glowed ominously, and her voice seemed electrified as she spoke.

"You may not be fragile, but I can still break you, young fool." proclaimed Naikamil.

The Darklander felt his mind open. He felt her wicked stare invade him.

"_She is controlling me!_" the Darklander thought, feeling his body operated without his guidance. He felt as if he were an outfit that someone else was wearing.

His nose was beginning to bleed, and his legs were hurting more than ever before, as Naikamil's curse forced him to stand upright. He could not scream out in pain, for his mouth was already silenced by the dragon-curse.

He felt himself stand up, in spite of his crippled legs, and was forced to bow before the cold-drake. He felt his neck stiffen, and began to choke horribly. A glob of blood issued from his mouth, and spilled on the ground.

The agony was unlike anything he had experienced before, and worsened with each passing second.

"_Kill me! Kill me, please! I beg you, Dragon. Kill me!_" he thought.

"If it will relax you, then I shall oblige, mortal." said Naikamil.

Naikamil opened her large mouth, revealing her many sharp teeth. Her white forked tongue stretched forward, and clicked. She then pulled back her tongue, lifted her head over the Darklander, and let it drop down upon him. The man was crushed into dust under the cold-drake's massive jaw.

Naikamil lifted her head again, and licked the gore off of her scaly chin. She then turned to look at her surroundings again, and yawned slowly.


	3. Jykale

In the Grindwood, a Darklander was traveling from het-Sepir to Grindsmouth, whistling to the tune of a Sarqindi war song. He was strolling casually along the Grinding River, still clad in his cluttered armour from his services in the Islands of Ormal.

This was Jykale, a Darklander of nineteen years of age. For several years, he had served as a soldier in Gunglip's army in the Islands, protecting Mórenorë and its inhabitants from unwanted visitors from the Sunlands. He had retired back to the Dark Land for some convenient peacetime, but this was at a cost.

"I miss the Islands already…" muttered Jykale, aloud. "I already missed the transfer to Salvidor, and now there's nothing here for me but random visits from-"

But at that moment, a dark figure leapt at him from the treetops, and kicked him to the ground. It was the Underlord himself.

"You believe that crimes are easy to bypass, and that idle behavior would throw me off?" demanded the Underlord, menacingly. "Speak to me, Darklander, or I will force more out of you than just words!"

At this, he drew out a blade, and pointed it at Jykale's stomach. Before Jykale could react, to his surprise, the Underlord almost immediately re-sheathed his weapon, and forced him back to his feet. Jykale choked loudly, and looked at the armoured entity that stood before him.

"What crimes?" wheezed Jykale. "I did nothing!"

"Did you now?" replied the Underlord, skeptical. "We shall see…"

Then he grabbed the Darklander by the shoulder, and walked him back towards the Green Mountains. As they walked, the sounds of the river crashing against the razor-sharp rapids drowned out the sounds of wildlife nearby.

"What is happening to me, then?" asked Jykale.

"I have a task for you to do." Said the Underlord, clicking his spike-like teeth. "Have you heard about…_Dragons_?"

"Of course." Replied Jykale, nodding graciously. "I've learned much about the North from my comrades in the Islands. I'm even a bit of an expert, myself."

"Then here is your opportunity…" whispered the armoured creature. "To meet one up close!"

"By the Unlight, this is amazing!" exclaimed Jykale. "Please, tell me where to go!"

Then the Underlord pushed Jykale away, and directed him to the lake nearby. He then departed eastwards towards the Black Screw, intending to journey to the Islands of Ormal for other matters.

Jykale ran towards the lake, where he was met by Galkyn and two of his fellow soldiers. They seemed frantic.

"Jykale, are we grateful to have found you!" said Galkyn, visibly relieved about something.

"What's the problem, my dear friend?" asked Jykale.

"You will not believe this, but there is a Dragon here in Mórenorë! She is in desperate need of a place to rest. We told her that you know about the Black Mountains' hot springs."

"So it is a _female_ Dragon?" said Jykale, completely surprised. "I was already ordered to meet with her, but now I think I know what the Underlord wanted me to do!"

Galkyn looked shocked.

"_The Underlord told you to meet with her_?" he whispered into his friend's ear.

"Of course." said Jykale. "Now, did you say that you already told her about me?"

Galkyn nodded, with a guilty expression on her face.

"I did. Please forgive me, friend. I did not know what we were thinking. I think the dragon bewitched us somehow. There was something about her eyes I suspected was forcing the captain to yield his knowledge of the lands, and of anyone that would know how to reach that place."

"I imagined this would happen!" Jykale nodded. "But I'd imagine that what I had already told you about Dragons would be enough to convince your comrades _not_ to look into the Dragon's eyes."

"Yes, I tried to warn them, but something else came up." whispered Galkyn, leaning forward to whisper into Jykale's ear. "It was her voice. I can say that the dragon has a very fascinating voice. She has a hypnotic, almost compelling tone in her voice, and she speaks with perhaps the thickest accent I have ever heard. It is the kind of voice only someone from the Far North could have."

"Very well." said Jykale. "I will look into this, my friend. Farewell!"

"May the Unlight have mercy on you." Said Galkyn, fearful for Jykale's safety.

Jykale proceeded towards the lake, where he saw Naikamil, laying flat on her belly, looking at the Green Mountains. She seemed completely distracted by her surroundings, giving Jykale enough time to take his Unlight-tinted goggles from a pack built into his left greave, and place them over his eyes. He knew that if he were to speak to the Dragon, he would have to do so in a way that could allow him to face her without suffering the Dragon-curse.

His vision was darkened and slightly distorted, but he could still see his surroundings just as fine. He ducked behind a patch of tall grass, and looked silently at Naikamil.

Naikamil sniffed the air, and snorted. She was already growing impatient. She was under the impression that the comrades of the Darklander she had just killed were toying with her. Already, she had waited nearly an hour for them to return, and she was growing more stressed than ever before.

"If your friend does not come here soon, I will hunt you down, and destroy all evidence of your pathetic existences!" The cold-drake roared in fury, as if calling to the Darklanders that had already left.

Jykale jumped back in fright, and fell backwards with a choking yelp. Luckily, Naikamil did not see him yet. Jykale got back to his feet, and looked hard at Naikamil, who was lashing her tail at the already mangled corpse of the twenty-year-old Darklander. He looked at her massive, black, scaly body, then felt his heart leap as he looked at her serpentine face, which was now looking in his direction.

"I see you. Now come out, and I can perhaps give _you_ a proper method of resting 'peacefully'." Naikamil snarled lowly.

Jykale felt his heart leap again, and approached the cold-drake, with his hands against the back corners of his head. He walked slowly towards the cold-drake, bracing himself for potential wrath.


	4. An Ogre's Tale

In the southernmost region of the Sunlands, Melbrik and Gunglip were camped in an oasis with a group of Sarqindi and Darklanders. Gunglip put a flask of thick leather to his wide mouth, and a reddish-yellow liquid poured between his jaws into his mouth. Melbrik was pacing around the encampment, watching out for Swertings. He was getting hungrier and thirstier from the dehydration that he had succumbed to recently.

"I can wait no more, Gunglip!" the giant shouted. "_Where is the damned shipment, already_?"

"Patience, giant." Said Gunglip, taking his hideous white helmet off.

A fanned mane of dark, shaggy hair dropped down along his back. The sunlight shone against his face, which was dark green with larges blotches of black here and there. He did not even need to squint his eyes when he looked into the sky, for his small, watery eyes were shaded by his own heavy eyelids. He thought about the package that he had been given by the war-bird, and quietly gnashed his teeth together.

Suddenly, a high, rapid voice rose up, and three Darklanders, led by a young-looking Gong, carried several boxes and satchels of food into the encampment. Several ogres stomped their way to the provisions, but Gunglip called them back.

"If you are going to take _all_ of the food for yourselves, you better be prepared to hunt turtle-fish tonight." Said Gunglip, in his usual low voice.

The Sarqindi stepped back, and waited for the Darklanders to complete the delivery. The Darklanders dumped the packages into the midst of the camp, and turned to Gunglip.

"Your provisions are here, your lordship." said the Darklanders, with a bow.

"Excellent!" exclaimed Melbrik, walking to join the others.

The Gong walked up to Gunglip, and saluted the Sarqindi warlord.

"Praise you, Gunglip, King of Ogres!" said the Gong, with a wicked, but affectionate grin.

"Of course, Gnaki. Now what is your report from the Islands?" said Gunglip.

"Jykale has just returned to Mórenorë, my lord." said Gnaki.

"A good warrior, if a bit ambitious." smiled Gunglip. "Thank you, for informing me on this. What more do you wish?"

"I was wondering, my lord, if I could make…ask a question…" said Gnaki.

"Certainly, and what do you ask me?" asked Gunglip.

Gnaki turned to look up at Melbrik, and noticed that his left eye was bruised, and an enormous quantity of whitish pus was building up underneath it.

"By the Unlight, what happened to your lieutenant?" asked the Gong with concern. "His face looks like a turtle-fish vomited on it!"

"Oh…that." moaned Gunglip, his face sinking back into its usual grim expression. "Well, you could say that we had something of a disagreement with a certain Dragon."

"Ha! I _knew_ you had a sense of humor!" laughed Gnaki. "Since when do Dragons live this far South?"

Gunglip bent over to look Gnaki in the face.

"Since a few days ago." he frowned. "A cold-drake from out of the Far North passed through the Islands to escape the War in the West."

Gnaki was virtually speechless.

"I suppose you would like to know more?" asked Gunglip, with a bored tone in his deep voice.

Gnaki simply nodded.

The Islands of Ormal had never encountered such a violent refugee. There was a violent air coming from the North, and a roaring sound was audible for miles. The black drake was crawling under the shade of the trees, and knocked many of them off their roots. The sounds of birds flying away from the destroyed trees filled the air, and several Gongs ran up to meet Naikamil.

"Hold it up there, you overgrown snake!" said the captain of the Gongs. "Stop ravaging our Island, or you will be…"

But before he could finish anything, the cold-drake swung her massive head, and sent the captain flying sideways into the nearby lagoon. Naikamil shut her eyes with a bitter expression on her scaly face, and then lowered her head towards the Gongs. She then opened her eyes, and glared at them with her glowing orange eyes.

The Gongs looked into her eyes, and instantly fell victim to the Dragon-curse. They all began to shout ballistic comments at the sky, and ran into the trees, hitting random objects with their fists and weapons.

Naikamil scoffed, and lumbered through the rest of the island, knocking all resistance aside with her tail. The former servant of Morgoth proved stronger than anything the Gongs could throw against her, and even a great turtle-fish that emerged from the Haragaer met its end by her claws and teeth, before having its thick shell crushed by her powerful jaw. Crossing from island to island, archipelago to archipelago, she eventually came to the islands that were occupied by the Sarqindi.

The Sarqindi were scrambling to meet it. Gunglip himself led the band of ogres that met the Dragon. They were all armed with large, spiked staves and axes, save for Gunglip, who wielded a black, jagged sickle.

Naikamil growled, with a disgusted expression along her face. But Gunglip only taunted her.

"Salutations, lizard!" said Gunglip. "I hope you are enjoying the Islands, as I am sure the Islands have been enjoying you…"

The cold-drake gasped, absolutely offended by Gunglip's derogatory term.

"_Lizard_, is it?" snarled Naikamil. "You would know your creatures so well, being yet another stupid Ogre that exists only to absolutely irritate me."

Gunglip looked at Naikamil's glaring eyes, and analyzed the enraged expression on her large, reptilian face. He smiled insincerely, and responded to the dragon.

"Judging by the thickness of your accent, I would assume you are from the North. The _Far_ North, perhaps?"

"Correct." said Naikamil. "What is it to you, savage?"

"Nothing, truly." said Gunglip. "My uncle is one of the Hongwir in the North. Do you know him? His name is Grothmid."

"I know no Ogre, nor Giant, nor any of the Uvanimor, save for a few Trolls and Orcs." snarked the Dragon. "And that was _before_ the War in the West, so they are probably all dead, anyway."

"A War, you say?" said Gunglip. "Does the Dark King of the World suffer casualties? He is a fool. I am thankful that my people abandoned his service _centuries_ ago."

"_You_ are the fool, Ogre." hissed the cold-drake. "Lord Melkor is the greatest in all of this miserable world. It is by his whim that my brethren, and yours, walk!"

"Or _crawl_..." muttered Gunglip. "Insignificant little-"

"You will show respect to him, as you will now show respect to _me_!"

"But of course. I simply wish to mention something..." said the ogre, with a low, mocking tone in his voice. "I find this ferocious beast that stands before me..._fascinating_!"

But Naikamil was not fooled. Her tongue shot out in disgust, before pulling back in with a loud scoff.

"Why do you not say that once more…to my face?" the cold-drake growled, narrowing her eyes.

Gunglip suspected she would say this. He was prepared for this particular sort of encounter, and he was completely aware of the Dragon-curse. He pulled a long cord from his armor's belt. On the cord were a pair of Unlight-tinted lenses, which he wore as makeshift goggles.

When Gunglip wrapped the cord to his head, and fit the lenses to his eyes, he approached Naikamil with his sickle drawn out.

"A good try, worm." taunted Gunglip. "But I came prepared for this sort of trickery. Amusing, though, since there are no Dragons down here in the Islands."

Naikamil attempted to look through the lenses, but all she could see were the darkness that covered them. She smiled fiendishly.

"A good strategy." The dragoness chuckled. "I suppose my only option is to use brute force."

Gunglip raised his sickle, but Naikamil lunged forward, knocking the tremendous ogre off his feet. The other ogres attempted to leap to their lord's aid, but Naikamil bit and clawed at them viciously. She leapt atop Gunglip's body, and raised her head to crush the ogre, but he kicked her soft, blue-grey belly. The Dragon fell off of Gunglip with a shuddering yelp.

Melbrik rushed to assist Gunglip, shouting in Renorin and Gongon at Naikamil. The giant attempted to mount the cold-drake, but Naikamil whipped her tail with enough force to split a fully-grown man in half, and sent it crashing into the left side of Melbrik's face. The giant fell over, howling in pain, as he felt the space between the eye and cheek, where he had received most of the blow.

Naikamil regained her focus, and seized Gunglip's legs with her foremost claws. She leaned forward, and tilted her head to face the ogre's.

"Enough of this." Naikamil demanded coldly. "I have traveled long and hard to reach safety from the War, and from my old master's wrath. You will tell me where I can find a safe place to live in peace, or I shall feast on ogre and giant tonight."

Gunglip looked up at Naikamil's face, and coughed silently.

"Very well." He groaned, with a forced smile. "You must continue to go South. Eventually, you will come across the Black Screw. If any of my Sarqindi block your path, tell them Gunglip sent you there. They will know what to do."

Naikamil smiled.

"Very good." She said, gratefully stroking the ogre's face with her long, white forked tongue. "You may live, you stupid animal…both of you."

Then she crawled off of Gunglip, and climbed over Melbrik as she continued moving southward to the Dark Lands beyond.

But Gunglip laughed aloud, even as the other Sarqindi regrouped to be given their new provisions.

"She does not even know who rules the land on the other end of the Black Screw." He told Gnaki, finishing his story. "That will be the last time a Dragon threatens to consume me."

"And the only time, my lord!" Smiled Gnaki.


	5. The Black Mountains

Naikamil looked down at Jykale. She took note of his body, and slipped her white tongue between her grey lips.

Jykale was hunched slightly, and his complexion was grayish-white, but his hair was shaggy and dark, with the bangs twisted and curled over his smallish forehead. His sanguine lips were dark and bent into what seemed to be an inconsistent frown. His face was youthful, yet pale, and displayed a particularly savvy expression, reminiscent of an older, battle-hardened warrior.

The young man removed his hands from his head, and tightened his cuirass. He was preparing for any kind of attack the cold-drake might attempt to perform against him. But the dragon stood still, like a statue of herself, and stared at Jykale's face. However, Naikamil noticed that Jykale was looking straight into her eyes, but she couldn't stare into his. She could only see two dark circles were occupying the space of Jykale's eyes, and she could not penetrate his mind.

Naikamil retracted her tongue and sighed deeply, noticing that Jykale was in fact wearing lenses over his eyes.

"Impressive, boy." Naikamil smiled, speaking in a low voice. "You have already anticipated my spell. For that, I shall not slay you, or at least not just yet."

"I have indeed, Dragon." replied Jykale, standing up quickly with a nod. "I have actually heard much about your kind, but never had the honor of encountering one up close."

"Honor, you say?" the cold-drake questioned. "You do not fear me?"

"I do not fear you. By the contrary, I am ecstatic at the chance to converse with such a fine creature as yourself!"

"You are Jykale, are you not?"

"I am Jykale, son of Reinx. I understand that your name is…" confirmed the Darklander.

"Naikamil. Now listen to me, Darklander. Your little friends informed me that _you_ know a place in the so-called Black Mountains that houses springs where I can remain at peace, and calm me once more. I have traveled far and long to get here, and I would prefer not being forced off somewhere against my will."

"Of course, Naikamil." nodded Jykale, overjoyed. "I know just the place to go. Please follow me, and I can get you there, and you shall fully settled in no time. In fact, I was thinking about heading there myself…before…"

"Before what?" questioned Naikamil, lowering her head threateningly.

Jykale stepped back, and looked up at her snarling mouth. He cleared his throat and spoke deeply.

"Before I was summoned to meet you. I wanted to mention something before we go, though: This is a dangerous land, ever for Dragons."

"Are you sure?" asked Naikamil, sarcastically. "This place seemed perfectly safe to me."

"I am indeed certain of this." said Jykale. "Though Arvalin isn't too lethal, the other regions of the Dark Land are even worse. Chasewood, Gologoth, the Last Desert, and the Southern Wastes are the worst regions in all of Mórenorë to live in. Every day, I-"

"Are the Black Mountains in any of those regions?" asked Naikamil.

"No. I just thought I'd describe our land." said Jykale, shaking his head.

"That can wait. Bring me to the mountains…_now_!"

"As you wish, Naikamil." nodded Jykale, beckoning the cold-drake to follow him. "Let's waste no more time, then. If you want to get there with haste, I advise that you follow me."

Naikamil crept after him, looking ahead over the treetops of the Grindwood. She cursed under her breath, and moaned with frustration at the hardships she had been suffering through the past few days. Perhaps now it was the end of these hardships.

Hours later, it was already twilight, when they reached the Black Mountains. Jykale and Naikamil both stopped at one of the foothills and looked in awe at the ebony peaks of the mountain range. The mountains were ringed with thin black fog, and stood tall under the copper skies above. They mostly appeared to be utterly desolate, but a few shadowy figures were visible on the slopes in the distance.

"Pygmies." said Jykale, pointing to the figures. "They won't bother us. And I wouldn't waste my time trying to kill them; They are extremely small, and wouldn't be worth a bite-sized meal. At least, not to you."

The cold-drake climbed the slopes on the nearest of the mountains, and Jykale followed her up, climbing a paved path built into the mountain's side. The path gave a clear view of Arvalin. When Naikamil and Jykale were both level with each other, the Darklander pointed out the geography of the region.

"Those are the Green Mountains, home of the Giants." Jykale said, pointing to the vegetation-covered mountains in the distance. "Do you see the city of het-Sepir, atop the peak of Jykshiadekklo?"

Naikamil saw what appeared to be a black spire atop the tallest of the Green Mountains, and she nodded her head.

"And there is Grindsmouth, port-city of Mórenorë." said Jykale, pointing northwards towards the gap between the Black Mountains and the Green.

On the delta of the Grinding River, there lay a large settlement, which was walled from the Haragaer, the Southern Sea, by a series of teeth-like black spikes.

"Fascinating…" moaned Naikamil, sarcastically.

"I would not visit that city anytime too soon, though." Jykale proclaimed, pointing to an even larger city in the middle of the wasteland. "That is het-Githlun, the city of Unlight. Only the Underlord and his most trusted servants are allowed to go there. I have never been there myself, but I must admit, I find myself daunted by those decrepit towers. I heard the citizens _deliberately_ allow those metal behemoths to rot like that."

"I saw those as I first passed through the wastelands." said Naikamil, genuinely impressed by the architecture. "At first, I thought they were broken mountains. I have never before seen such structures. At least not in Middle-earth. The closest I had ever beheld were the peaks of Thangorodrim in the Far North."

"There is nothing grand quite like Mórenorëan architecture." smiled Jykale. "But I am merely delaying us. Let us proceed to the hot springs. They are on the other side of this mountain."

They continued along the path, and saw the hot springs at the feet of the mountain on its western side, towards the Haragaer. They were massive pools of bubbling water, and a waterfall perpetually spilt hot water down from the other mountains.

"There are rumors that the Black Mountains were once fire-mountains. Not unlike those that Melkor created in the North." Jykale told Naikamil.

Naikamil gasped deeply.

"You know my master's name?" The dragon whispered hoarsely.

"Of course. Many of the servants of Ungoliant once served the Dark Lord. Most of these were forgotten, though, or abandoned by their former master. Others wished to be independent altogether. Some came by fate, and nothing more."

"Fate…" Naikamil muttered under her breath. "Then that is how your ancestors came here?"

"Yes, I believe so." said Jykale. "But I am not one to study his own ancestry. I heed that which happens now, and what was then…not so much."

Naikamil climbed down the slopes, and crawled into a nearby spring, which was conveniently large enough to fit her entire body, tail and all. Jykale came down after her and stopped at the edges of the spring.

"I have led you to the springs." Jykale said, triumphantly. "What more will you need?"

"You are not leaving?" Naikamil said, raising her head from the hot waters to glare at Jykale. "I would have given you a head-start to leave before I devoured you, but if you have a death-wish, I would be happy to oblige."

"Do you mean this, Naikamil?" Jykale frowned as Naikamil extended a claw out from the depths of the pool. "I do not wish to be your enemy, nor your meal."

But Naikamil cackled, and spoke to him.

"How I taunt you." Said the cold-drake, with an unusually polite tone in her voice. "If you wish to stay, you may do so. I have had not a soul to speak to in quite some time."

Jykale felt his heart leap, and fought hard the urge to exclaim his excitement. He nodded and smiled, as he bowed to the dragoness, and sat down on the edge.

"I would be honored…_my lady_." He whispered, as he sat at the edge of a smaller spring, and looked with great interest towards Naikamil.

For many hours, they spoke with each other of the regions of both Middle-earth and Mórenorë.


	6. Study of a Dragon

Galkyn was sitting by a tree two hundred meters from his encounter with Jykale. He was fumbling for his flask, and muttering under his breath.

"I haven't felt this hungry in days." He said. "What I could go for right now is a cold bottle of Grindwater Ale. No matter, _this_ will have to do, at least until I return to Grindsmouth."

He pulled his flask from under his belt, and drained it of tyghomelon juices. The sour taste stung his taste buds, and caused him to groan with satisfaction. He now felt ready to run all the way to Grindsmouth, and passed quickly through the Grindwood.

He was stopped just two leagues from Grindsmouth by four Darklanders. One of them was an eighteen-year-old woman clad in Ormalic garb.

"Galkyn, what is wrong" The young woman frowned. "Is the Grindwood too daunting for a strong Delduthling such as yourself?"

Galkyn scratched his shaggy dark hair, and chuckled quietly.

"Not at all, Rhejya!" Galkyn smiled. "But what about _you_? Are the Islands too bright for you today?"

"Oh, Galkyn, you snarky bastard." said a Darklander behind Rhejya, speaking with a heavy Salvidoric accent. "If you must know, Rhejya has now been summoned to the Islands. We are here to make sure she gets there. There have been strange reports recently about some Greblings turning up dead near the Black Screw."

Galkyn slapped himself on the scalp, and moaned with disbelief.

"What in the name of…Why would there be Greblings this close to our lands, anyhow? They should be over in Gologoth, with all the other putrid creatures that the Underlord wouldn't want in his sight!"

"We don't know. Perhaps it was a botched raiding party of some kind."

"Good! That means less work for me…and my patrol. Why do you need to concern yourself with this again?"

"Well, we need to make sure we know what happened that caused these killings, whether it be another of our patrols, the Underlord doing a favor for us, some Gruons emerging from the Chasewood region, or something bigger."

"Hopefully not bigger than Thimbalt." Galkyn joked.

"Not so much, thank the Unlight." Rhejya grinned. "Farewell, Galkyn. I have to make sure my brother doesn't get burnt to cinders in the Sunlands."

"I though Grodyn was coming to Salvidor to retire from the warfare?" Galkyn asked.

"Apparently, the Underlord has ordered half the population of the Islands to fight some kind of war in the Sunlands."

"And your brother was in that half?" Galkyn said.

Rhejya nodded.

"Farewell, Rhejya." Galkyn said, patting Rhejya on the shoulder. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to make a quick visit to the Black Mountains."

Once Rhejya and her companions had departed, Galkyn thought to himself for a moment.

"I am sure Jykale isn't dead yet. If he isn't, he'll be at the Mountains with that Dragon. If he is dead, I'll find his remains at the Mountains, once the Dragon's done playing with his corpse."

Galkyn ran southwards towards the Black Mountains, chuckling loudly.

Meanwhile, Jykale had finished describing the landscape of Arvalin, and turned the discussion back to Naikamil.

"You are a very fascinating creature." Jykale said, wiping the fumes of the springs from his lenses. "Forgive me if I am beginning to repeat myself, but I cannot help myself; I have truly never met a Dragon before, and I wish to know more about you and your kind."

"At least _something_ in this Dark Land cares enough to mention this." said Naikamil, grinning through the steam. "What would you like to know first, Darklander?"

Jykale hesitated for a moment. He had waited long for this opportunity, and did not know where to start. He fumbled to find a topic to discuss with Naikamil, to the point where the cold-drake became impatient.

"Must _I_ decide for you?" she groaned, lowering her large black head.

"Please do…"

"Very well, then. I am a cold-drake. I was born to one of the oldest lines of Dragons in all of the Far North of the World. I am the daughter of Lamthanc. My mother, however, was an Ice-drake whose name I have long since forgotten."

"But what difference is there between an Ice-drake and a cold-drake?" asked Jykale.

"There is little difference, from what I have experienced, although Ice-drakes have been known to regurgitate frozen water from their mouths."

"Can you do the same?"

"No." Naikamil frowned. "As I told you, I am a cold-drake. My father was a cold-drake, and thus, I am one as well."

"Did you inherit _anything_ from your mother?" asked Jykale.

"I did." said Naikamil. "When I was younger, I had bright blue scales. This is something unheard of for other cold-drakes to feature, regardless of age. Not to mention, I have reason to believe that my body structure could be attributed to both my mother _and_ my father."

"And it is a fascinating body, as well. It compliments you greatly." Jykale said.

Naikamil's eyes widened, and the scales on her snout had a subtle grayish tint.

"You truly mean this?" the dragoness whispered.

"Of course, Naikamil." Jykale nodded. "I was wondering if I could conduct a study of your…anatomy."

Naikamil scoffed, then climbed slowly out of the boiling waters. She stood tall on her four legs, her great body stretched erect in a statuesque manner. She lifted her head up, and stared forward. Jykale walked up to Naikamil, and felt her long, whip-like tail.

"This is a damned powerful tail you have here, my lady…" the Darklander said, squeezing the end of the cold-drake's tail, and feeling how thick it was.

"Unless you wish for me to demonstrate just how powerful it is, I would recommend that you unhand it at once." Naikamil growled, tilting her head in Jykale's direction.

"Of course, my lady." Jykale replied, quickly unclasping his hand, and pulling it away. "Now, I'm going to take a look at your legs."

Jykale walked along Naikamil's long tail, watching it closely to make sure that the cold-drake did not decide to knock him over with it. He then stood next to her hind legs, and coughed when he smelt the vapors that cooked around the dragon's belly.

"Damned spring fumes…As if her own scent wasn't strong enough." Jykale cursed under his breath.

He hunched forward, and scratched one of the scales on Naikamil's leg. The sound of his finger scratching against the black scale produced a quiet grinding noise. He then hammered his fist against another of the dragon's scales, but his hand felt the hardness of Naikamil's natural armor, and involuntarily bounced back with a grunt.

"Well, I cannot say that your scales are fragile…" Jykale muttered, tilting his head down to look at the cold-drake's claws.

He analyzed the plantigrade structure of Naikamil's feet, and mindfully felt her massive heels, which were heavy as boulders and thick like diamonds. He looked at the cold-drake's foremost claws a few yards ahead. He approached them, and noticed how much their overall shape bore an uncanny resemblance to Mannish hands.

"Well, I can certainly tell you are not a mere beast, just from looking at your claws and feet. Anything that walks on these is already guaranteed to be as sentient a race as any Man, Elf, or the like."

"And I suppose this amuses you, mortal." smirked Naikamil, scratching the ground with one of her claws. "But if you are just here to talk about how attractive you find me, I would at least _attempt_ to make it more explicit, or I would seem that I was wasting the other's time stating the obvious."

"Of course, my lady," Jykale bent his head down, and walked back towards Naikamil's hind legs. Halfway there, he looked up at Naikamil's vast underbelly, and removed one of his gauntlets. He raised his hand to feel the Black Worm's stomach. The blue-gray flesh felt eerily smooth, and slimy. It was as if he was feeling a blanket of sludge that never parted from the overall mass. He felt strangely attracted to the skin tone, and rubbed more gently. But Naikamil began to lurch slowly, prompting Jykale to cease his action.

"I take it you have sensitive skin, my lady?" asked Jykale.

"Only down there." said Naikamil. "But I think you should inspect some other region of my body. Preferably, someplace where I can still see you."

Jykale nodded, and walked up to Naikamil's head. He gestured her to lower it, which she promptly did. The Darklander looked at the dragon's massive lower jaw, and pressed his hand against it. Then he stroked Naikamil's gray lips with his other hand, and felt how tough and leathery the skin was.

"Do you like what you feel, mortal?" the cold-drake asked, gingerly. "Is my body truly that interesting to you?"

Jykale turned to look down along the rest of Naikamil's great reptilian body, from the curved gray spikes along her spine to her whip-like tail, and then back to her luminous eyes. He was thankful that he was still wearing his lenses over his own eyes, or he would have instantly fallen prey to the dragon's curse.

"It is indeed a fascinating, powerful body." Jykale grinned. "It is only fitting for a fascinating, powerful creature such as yourself."

"How you flatter me, mortal one." Naikamil said, stretching her lips into a grin of her own. "You are indeed the first Man to come so close to me without showing any signs of hostility or recklessness. Unlike your friend Galkyn's foolish subordinate. Did you know that fool, by any chance?"

"I did not, my lady." Jykale replied, stepping back to look upon the drake's face as she turned to look at him. "Even if I did, I would not have mourned for his death so quickly. Not when my the opportunity that my task set before was too great to pass up for reckless concepts as vengeance and angst to intervene."

"I like your thinking, Jykale." Naikamil chuckled, slipping her white, forked tongue between her lips. "But please, you may simply refer to me as Naikamil. Please do so."

"I shall do this, Naikamil." Jykale said. "And I must say: your voice is another fascinating feature of yours. It is beautiful, but also strong and-dare I say?-queenly. In fact, the only voice I have ever heard that was greater than yours would be that of Queen Ungoliant, though _her_ voice is not quite as fascinating as yours."

"I expected that." Naikamil laughed. "Dragons, such as myself, tend to have an alluring tone in their voice. It proves to be just as useful as our powerful forms and our most daunting of spells."

"I shall take you word for it!" Jykale laughed. "I hope I never find myself on the wrong end of your…daunting curses."


	7. Rhejya

Meanwhile, Rhejya and her companions unknowingly found themselves near where Galkyn's patrol first sighted Naikamil. The Salvidoric Darklander advised Rhejya to continue further to the East, but the Ormalic woman did not heed him, instead noticing various shapes moving around them among the trees.

"Luovyd, what could be causing these movements?" One of the two Delduthlings said to the Salvidoric.

"Perhaps the answer we need about those dead Greblings." Luovyd replied, finally taking notice of the figures that were now approaching them from out of the Grindwood. "Juerbod! Nykib!" one of the figures shouted, calling out to the two Delduthlings.

It was the rest of Galkyn's patrol, having returned to the area, intent on steering anyone away from the lake where they encountered Naikamil.

"What in Ungoliant's name is the meaning of this?" Juerbod shouted back to the captain of the patrol.

"Something extremely unfortunate occurred near here, just a few hours ago." The captain replied, out of breath.

Rhejya walked up to the fatigued captain, and attempted to speak to him, but the captain gestured for her to step back and took notice of her attire and looked at her face for a split-second.

"You seem to be a little far from the Islands, Gr-Oh, damn it. I just confused you with-"

"Grodyn?"

"Yea-Yes! You look like him, if he were an utterly attractive, yet equally moody-looking woman. I cannot believe I made such a mistake."

Rhejya's eyes widened, but she just chuckled casually.

"It is not too great a mistake. He is my twin brother, you see. It's not too difficult to tell us apart, though, even for the untrained eyes."

"We can all see that." Said a Darklander standing next to the captain; his eyes had been running up and down Rhejya's body for the past two minutes.

Everyone laughed with him, even Rhejya, whose cheeks blushed into a deeper shade of gray.

"Enough talk, Jyankhil!" Nykib said to the captain, with a particularly impatient look upon his face. "What is happening around here. We demand answers, immediately!"

With that, he fired a projectile from his dart-bow into the sky, and cursed in _Renorin_.

"Well, if you must know, kinsmen, there has been a recent disturbance in this part of the Grindwood." Said Jyankhil. "Come with us, if you wish to know."

"Very well, but make it quick." Luovyd groaned. "We still need to bring Rhejya to the Black Screw."

"It is not a hassle, Luovyd." Rhejya assured. "I can come along, too. I am certain that the lord of the Islands-and my brother-will understand."

"Very well, then." The Salvidoric nodded with a subtle grin. "But you may wish to take this!"

Luovyd handed her a knife with a black hilt and a long grey blade.

"I don't trust these fools at all." The Salvidoric whispered into the young woman's ear.

"If they pull anything, leave quickly. If they try to stop you, do not hesitate to use this weapon on them."

"Luovyd, we're all on the same side here!" Rhejya said to her companion. "Why would we harm each other?"

"I do not know." Luovyd admitted, sheepishly. "But this still seems dangerous. Use that knife if anything happens. Please, my friend. Trust me!"

"Then I shall!" Rhejya said, tucking the knife underneath the leather of her belt.

"Then we shall accompany you, for now!" Luovyd said to Jyankhil. "Just bring us there quickly, so that we can continue on our way."

"Good for you, then!" One of Jyankhil's companions said, suddenly.

"But if this goes wrong on your behalf, you will hear from my cousin, Lhebryn." Luovyd uttered.

"And what would she do?" asked the sixteen-year-old Darklander archer standing on Jyankhil's opposite side.

"Why don't you go to the Trinity Isles and find out?" Luovyd grinned.

"Enough, we are all wasting time here!" Nykib interjected.

So Rhejya and her companions followed Jyankhil's patrol to the lake, where they found the utterly destroyed cadaver of the twenty-year-old Darklander that Naikamil had killed earlier. Juerbod groaned in pain, and spat in disgust of the discovery.

"What in the name of Ungoliant happened here?" Nykib asked, rushing past Rhejya and Luovyd.

"The Gruons got him!" Jyankhil lied. "Those damned tree-things have slipped past our patrols, and killed some of our Men!"

"Well, since this has been cleared up, we shall go to the Black Screw!" said Luovyd. "I hope that you will deal with this problem soon, then…"

Meanwhile, Naikamil began to steer the conversation back to Jykale.

"Now, I wish for you to explain how you are able to repel my curses and spells." The cold-drake questioned.

Disoriented by the smell from Naikamil's heated belly, Jykale walked away from the pools of water, and turned to face the dragon. He tapped one of the lenses he wore.

"These eye-lenses are tinted to filter out the brightest sources of light." The Darklander explained. "Whether it be the Yellow Disc-"

"The Sun?" Naikamil muttered.

"-Or the gaze of a dragon, such as yourself, we are able to adapt to anything we see, as long as we wear them."

Naikamil cocked her head aside, and clicked her tongue against her sharp teeth.

"And how is _that_ possible?" She asked.

"It is the Unlight of Ungoliant herself that tints the lenses." Said Jykale. "We actually derive many materials from the Unlight: paint, silk, dye, string…"

"And did you discover that these lenses could repel dragon-spells by yourself?"

Jykale shook his head, but kept his eyes on Naikamil.

"No, my cousin told me about it. He is a soldier in the Islands, much like I once was. And sometimes, we encountered small Dragons in the Sunlands, usually in tunnels and caves in the Yellow Mountains. These Dragons are much smaller than your kind, and not anywhere near as intelligent.

("Cave Drakes." Jykale hear Naikamil mutter.)

"Though if it weren't for the fact that my cousin already wore those lenses frequently, he probably never would have figured that out, either. He, and many of our comrades, probably might not have even lived to take a guess about it if he didn't."

Now, the vapors of the springs were blowing in Jykale's direction and began fogging up the lenses. He could still make out that Naikamil was now facing away from him, and decided to quickly remove his lenses and clean them. His eyes were closed, so that he could clean them without risking succumbing to the dragon-curse.

Suddenly, he heard a faint bubbling from the pools, and soon felt a thick jet of hot water crash hard into his chest with a force strong enough to knock him off his feet. As he fell, he involuntarily opened his eyes again, and saw the dark mass of Naikamil's face looming over him. He looked into her radiant orange eyes, and felt nauseous.

"Stand up, boy." Naikamil commanded.

Without even thinking, he found himself back on his feet again. He now felt drowsy, and confused.

"Heed my orders, Jykale." The cold-drake said. "I have chosen to settle here for now. I wish to slumber alone. Leave me now, as I have no need of you at this time."

"When shall I return, mistress?" Jykale said, dull-toned.

Naikamil took a moment to look into Jykale's eyes. They were slanted downwards, almost like the eyes of a dog. There were also blackened, puffy bags beneath his eyes, but no reason seemed apparent. She then responded to him.

"Return here in five days. If you return even an hour too soon, I shall slay you and your sickly friend, Galkyn. Do you understand now, child?"

"I certainly do, my lady…" Jykale droned, and found himself walking northwards.

"Then begone!" Naikamil roared after him.

The cold-drake turned her head, and proceeded to lay by the springs with a low sigh. She observed Jykale's movements, until he was beyond her sight. The night was rolling over the mountains, and Naikamil began feeling as exhausted as she was when she first came to the Dark Land. She smiled, and prepared to settle in.

"Jykale is an interesting one, I shall give him that." Naikamil coolly uttered to herself. "At least he provided more pleasant company than anyone else I've met in Arvalin...thus far."

Meanwhile, Jykale felt his mind distort, and his vision darkened, making everything around him seem incomprehensible to him. He felt ill, as though he was beginning to descend into insanity. Strange and alien thoughts polluted his mind, and he heard another voice shout to him from a distance, rising and falling. The voice seemed to repeat for an eternity, and echoed through his mind for what seemed like an hour. Eventually, Jykale felt himself stumble to the ground, and abruptly blacked out to the sight of a dark figure slowly approaching him.


	8. Grindsmouth

Jykale lay on the dark ground in a fit of madness. Strange thoughts were clustering in his mind. For a while, nothing made sense to him. Each hallucination was becoming more incomprehensible than its predecessor. It felt as though the memories of many different people and creatures were crudely merging together, and the result was rushing through his subconscious.

The young Darklander groaned with discomfort as the visions faded away into darkness. He could feel someone stooping over him, but Jykale felt too fatigued to respond.

"Get up!" A familiar voice shouted, frantically. "Get up now! Damn it, Jykale! What in the world does it take to get you to wake up?!"

Jykale found himself forced to his feet again, this time he could feel someone grabbing him. He felt a hand, gloved and padded, force his eyes open, but his vision still seemed dark to comprehend who was looking at him.

"I am having trouble seeing you!" Jykale muttered, still drowsy.

"You are conscious, at least…" the voice said, now slightly calmed. "That was some nasty curse that the Dragon must have placed on you. Try some of this, my friend. I do not have much left, but it should get you going quickly."

Jykale then felt a flask thrust into his mouth, and several drops of juice from a tyghomelon fell onto his tongue. His tongue stung from the sour, sugary liquid. His vision began to gradually illuminate, but he still felt dizzy and exhausted. He saw the man's gaunt face, and recognized him at last.

"Thank you, Galkyn." Jykale said, removing the flask from his mouth. "Did you just find me?"

"No, I followed you for nearly an hour now." Galkyn said, tilting his head to the side. "You must have walked four miles before falling over. At least we are within walking distance of Grindsmouth now, or I would have had to leave you to fix your own problems."

"I didn't kill anything, did I?" Jykale said, worried.

"No. You just walked and made loud noises that made no sense to me. Would you care for me to reenact it for you?"

"Not right now." Said Jykale. "Let us just get to someplace where we can rest."

"There is a grind-hut just a mile away." said Galkyn. "We will not even have to cross the river to get there. We should hurry, though! It is not safe to remain outside during the late night."

He pointed to a nearby building along the Grinding River, just across from the rest of Grindsmouth. Like the other buildings of Grindsmouth, it was wrought of metal, with windows draped with black fabric, and rows of spires like bestial teeth rose from the roof and walls.

"Then let us go there, quickly. There are some things we must talk about." Jykale said.

They walked to the grind-hut, which they realized was a guardhouse, meant to watch over the riverside. There was torchlight visible from two or three of the windows, which was welcoming to the two Darklanders. As they reached the door, a trio of Darklander guards walked out, and approached them.

"Galkyn, did your shift end early? Where are your other men?" One of them asked. "And who is this with you?"

"We do not have much time to explain. This man needs a bed, immediately!" Galkyn said, pointing at Jykale, who was visibly fatigued.

"Very well! The sleeping quarters are upstairs, on the North side." Said another Darklander, pointing at the second floor of the building. "If you need to replace your weapons or armor, feel free to take what you desire. If you need anything else, meet me in the lounge."

Galkyn led Jykale up to the quarters, which were lined with beds atop metal platforms that hung from the ceiling. Jykale fell asleep in one of them within minutes, and stumbled into a strange dream.

Meanwhile, Galkyn went downstairs into a private chamber, searching for the captain in charge of the guardhouse. To his surprise, a tall Darklander woman, twenty-six years of age was waiting for him there.

She had long black hair that was sleek and leathery, and hung down the sides of her head like velvet curtains. Her fringe was smooth and symmetrical, and sat atop her tall forehead. Her bent lips were black, and her grayish-white flesh had a vaguely azure complexion.

"Galkyn, what brings you back to the city so early?" She asked.

"Well, a friend of mine from the Islands is resting upstairs," Galkyn replied.

"Is it important enough for you to leave your patrols?"

"Yes, Jyldhrani. I need him to be safe here. I wish for you to allow him to stay here for a few days, and to let me stay to watch him."

Jyldhrani walked towards Galkyn, and bent forward to speak.

"I will watch him, Galkyn." She frowned. "You are to report to my father at mid-day tomorrow. We have learned of a disturbance somewhere near Blakhind. Do you understand?"

"Of course, Jyl." Galkyn said slowly.

"Now leave." The woman said, but Galkyn was already walking back towards the door.

Eventually, Jykale woke up at the crack of dawn, and the sky was a faint reddish-orange color. After replacing his Ormalic garments for the black, padded leather attire that was more typical for Delduthlings, he went down into the lounge, which greatly resembled and functioned as a tavern. It was crowded with guards eating, drinking, and talking together. Galkyn was sitting at a small table, drinking a bottle of Grindwater Ale. When he saw Jykale, he gestured him to sit down next to him.

"Jykale, it is good to see that you are fully recovered." Galkyn said, placing the bottle, which was already half-full, onto the table. "I have already sent food for us. Maybe some drink, too. I told them not to give you any ale, but I don't know what else they have to drink around here."

"And it looks like the food is here!" Jykale said, pointing to large metal trays, laden with food and drink, being carried into the lounge by a group of Darklanders.

One of the trays was placed upon the table where Jykale and Galkyn were sitting.

"Welcome to Grindsmouth, kinsman from the Islands!" said the courier to Jykale. "Galkyn recommended that we bring you food that you would be more accustomed to. I hope you like it, since this is not easy to find in Delduthland."

The courier left, and Jykale took the opportunity to look at the food that was laid before him: Five strips of bacon, a thick wheel of salted cheese, a bowl of tropical fruits, half of a tyghomelon, and half a dozen small loaves of cream-colored bread.

The courier returned, and placed a bottle filled with a dark brown liquid next to the cheese wheel.

"This food will dry your throat, or at least leave it very sore." He said. "Drink that to moisten it after eating."

After they finished eating, Galkyn stood up from his chair.

"I hope that you will find comfort here, because I have to go to the city." he said to Jykale. "Duty calls."

"Very well…" moaned Jykale.

And then, Galkyn walked out of the room, grumbling under his breath.


End file.
